Genesis
by SoulfullyInked
Summary: Yet another "V LIVES!" story...with equally as generic summary...shoot me ;-D.


Don't own them. If I did...who baby ;-D. I apologize for the formatting, I can't figure out how to post the chapters individually.

VEVEVEVEVEVEVEVEVEVEVEV...

Chapter 1

If there had been anywhere else from where to shed more tears, Evey surely would have. She would have shed them as easily as it was to breathe. As it was, there were no more reserves from which to form more tears, and the ease at which to breathe was coming in short, gasping spasms. Her whole body hurt with her wretched sobs, her whole body ached with loss.

V was dead...

The reality hadn't struck until she started back to the Shadow Gallery. She remembered standing with V by the train, remembered his giving his gift to her, remembered kissing him, remembered V telling her that he loved her, remembered him dying in her arms before she could tell him that she loved him...

The reality hadn't struck of what she'd done. Oh, she remembered placing V's lifeless body in the train, remembered pulling the lever, remembered watching the new dawn arise with Finch. The only thing that she cared to remember was that of V telling her that he loved her...

Reality came crashing cruelly down as she made her way back to the Gallery, locking herself into it's vast emptiness and crumbling where she stood. After lying on the cold stone floor, Evey dragged herself into the bedroom...not the bedroom she'd occupied during her stays, but his...she needed something, anything of V's to cling to. She laid down on his bed, wrapped her arms tight around his pillows and, with renewed strength, cried and prayed to whatever deity that chose to take pity on her to return her beloved V back to her.

Evey's grief stole the energy from her body and she fell asleep where she was...in V's bed, pretending she was holding him instead of the pillows that smelled of him.

V remembered virtually nothing of the last few hours. His hazy brain was slow to connect together the regular _clackclackclack _and the rocking beneath him. It dawned on him suddenly and that he desperately needed to escape.

_Evey..._

Her name, her face was the next and only thing that occupied his thoughts. V forced back the agonizing pain searing white hot through his body, fought away at the unconsciousness that threatened to take him to his second death but a few short minutes away. With a strength great even for him, V grabbed the first item of heaviest purchase...his death bed...and flung it at the window. In a flurry of black, blood and roses he toppled out the shattered window and onto the tracks below.

_Evey..._

There was not a word in his extensive vocabulary that could describe that which gave him the drive to drag himself up from the tracks and back to the Shadow Gallery.

Back to his beloved Evey...

V lost consciousness twice, lost the feeling in his arms, then his legs. He felt cold. His vision began tunneling in on him, creating the mirage that the entrance to the Gallery was far more distant than his instincts knew it to be. Reaching the door as the last of his strength left, V collapsed into the heavy wooden door and slid down into a limp heap onto the floor. The last thing he remembered before the darkness took him was weakly calling her name, "Evey..."

Evey woke with a start to a pounding sound at the entrance. Worried that Finch had betrayed her and somehow trailed her back to the Gallery, she grabbed V's rapier and made with determined revenge to plunge the sword into whomever it was on the other side of the door. She stopped short to listen and gauge how many enemies were on the other side. The only sound she heard made her heart backflip with joy.

"Evey..."

A tornado could not have hurled the thick door back with as much force as Evey did at the sound on the other side. _V! You're alive! _The thought brought the biggest, widest smile to her face. That smile faded into panic as V's unconscious body slid inside with the door, bright crimson smearing the wood as he went. "Oh God! V!" she cried out as she successfully caught his head before it hit the floor as well. "V! Hang on! Oh God, V!"

V was drenched in his own blood, more so now than he had been at the train. Moreover, he was ice-cold and beginning to shiver uncontrollably. Evey pulled him the rest of the way through the doorway as quickly as she could, as it was, V was heavier than he looked due to sheer muscle mass and everywhere she could grab for leverage was slippery with blood. She managed to get him halfway into the main room before her arms gave out.

Evey quickly surveyed V's injuries. There was too much blood oozing from all over to get a proper assessment and the observation that his breathing was ragged and irregular made her abandon the idea all together. "V, hang in there, hon. Hold on a little longer. I'm gonna make you feel better," she doubted that V was even aware of her presence, it was as much a comforting promise to her as it was to him. Not knowing what else to do, but knowing with absolution that she couldn't call for medical help, she sprinted away for the medical supplies stored in the bathroom. _He will die if I don't hurry!_ She tried not entertaining the thought, but it came unbidden anyway.

Her first concern was stopping the blood loss. V had lost a tremendous amount of blood, she doubted there was much left to pump through his veins, his limbs had already gone cold as his body rerouted what little blood was left to vital organs. She applied heavy amounts of gauze wrap snugly around his chest, abdomen and left arm. She wondered if he had a pierced lung, when she'd rolled him sideways to secure the bandages he coughed and blood spattered out from behind his mask. With the pressure bandages in place, Evey took V's vitals again. His pulse was thready and faint, breathing shallow to the point of nearly non-existant.

She fumbled around inside the med kit for anything that could help her get V stabilized. She found exactly what he needed, a vial each of Dopram and Epinepherine. She drew up what she hoped would be about the correct dose into syringes and plunged them into V's right thigh. Within a minute his pulse improved, albeit marginally and his breathing became more regular. Satisfied that V would make it a few seconds without her, Evey ran to his bedroom to retrieve the blankets from his bed so as to get him off the cold floor.

Gone no more than thirty seconds, she returned to find V on very unsteady hands and knees, coughing up more blood through the mask. "Dear God! V!" She rushed to him as he sank down to his elbows. He let out an agonizing, gut-wrenching moan when she reached out to help him ease his descent.

"Evey..." his voice was the weakest she'd ever heard it. "My dear, sweet Evey." V slumped back down to the floor.

"Oh no you don't. Come on, let's get you to bed so you can get warm," Evey commanded. She risked causing him pain by draping his good right arm up and over her shoulders and hoisting him upwards.

V's semi-conscious body helped as much as it could. He relied mostly on Evey for support, but he forced his legs to lurch forward. The excruciating pain searing through every part of him threatened to make him pass out again, he refused to succumb until he was laying down in his bed. Some lucid part of him, untouched by the white hot agony of his injuries hoped beyond hope that his Beloved Evey would lie next to him so that her beautiful face was his first sight when he regained consciousness.

Chapter 2

V remained mostly unconscious through the morning and into early afternoon. He occasionally drew in sharp hisses that signaled he was in severe pain.

Evey kept an unmoving vigil at his bedside. She beat down the temptation to crawl beneath the blankets and cradle V in her arms. Instead she pulled up the chair in the corner to sit at the headboard and trace absent-minded circles across the back of the gloved hand she held. She propped the medical encyclopeadia she was reading against the edge of the pillows. She half wondered where V had comandeered it from, then decided it really didn't matter, despite it being boot-legged she was still finding it's contents useful.

She determined that V most likely had at least a partially pierced lung, even though his breathing was stronger and more regular, there was a soft whistling sound when he inhaled and exhaled. She didn't know how she would be able to repair that wound, she hoped the tear was small enough for V's body to heal on it's own. All she could do at the moment was gently tilt V's head sideways whenever he broke into another moist, bloody coughing spasm.

What she did know for sure was that she needed to get his wounds cleaned and properly dressed before infection set in. She was fairly certain she could stitch closed any gaping holes, there was definately enough suture material contained within V's stockpile of medical supplies. _What does V need with hospital-grade supplies and medical encyclopeadias? _Evey asked herself. She drew the conclusion that he'd probably had instance before to suture himself up, and judging from the brief glimpse she'd gotten of his hands after the BTN, she also concluded that he'd consulted the volumes for treatment.

There was movement in the hand she held, it was small and weak, but Evey felt as V's fingers twitched and clasped tighter around hers. She found it both relieving and reassuring, she gently squeezed back. She laughed quietly to herself, _some things will never change. Here's V, on Death's Door and yet he's reassuring me. _

As if on cue, V inhaled sharply, creating another round of wheezing, gasping coughs that brought him to his most alert in over twelve hours. "Evey, a most pleasant sight for a dead man to awaken to," his voice was barely a whisper and it took tremendous effort to get even that out. He smiled wearily beneath his mask, relishing the feel of his hand in hers.

Evey heaved a heavy, relieved sigh. She squeezed his hand. His grasp was stronger now, still not as firm and assured as usual, but no longer limp and lifeless. "You scared me, I'd thought I'd lost you...again..." she said softly. V grunted slightly and she realized she'd been grasping his hand tighter and tighter.

V slowly turned his head to look at her, to gaze blearily at his beautiful Evey. "My Dearest Evey, nothing below, on, or above this world will ever take me from you again." He let go of her hand to reach up to her face, to caress her cheek with his gloved fingertips. _Oh, how I long to know the feel of your lips on my bare skin! _After she'd kissed him at the train, it was all he could have done to abandon his vendetta and bring her back here and make love to her for hours. Had he been healthy currently he would have done just that, but as it was, it was painful to breathe, for now interlocking his fingers with hers and her mere presence was enough.

Evey brought their entwined hands to her lips, kissed the back of his hand and brought them both to rest on her heart.

Before the emotional exchange derailed her any further, Evey needed to tend to V's injuries before he had a chance to do it for himself. "V, do you think you can stand up? I haven't had the chance to clean your wounds. You would have bled to death." She shuddered at the not-so-distant memory, he was still dressed in his torn and blood-encrusted cloak, as were her own clothes still blood-stained and unchanged.

V wilted back into the pillows. Of all the thoughts to the contrary of them lying naked and flushed in each other's arms, V wasn't quite ready to expose Evey to the sight of his tortured flesh, gaping wounds and bullet fragments notwithstanding. He ignored the fire that coursed through his chest as he inhaled deeply. "I don't think I'll be getting up for quite a while yet. When I feel up to it, I shall endevour to take you up on your offer," he lied. "Please, my dear, go look after yourself. A couple more hours sleep will do me good and whence I wake up, the sight of a refreshed Evey will most certainly aide in my recovery."

Evey gave him a stern look. In regards to his own needs, subterfuge was the name of V's game. But she begrudgingly agreed that he was right, a hot shower, a bite to eat and a change of clothes would definately help her help him. "You just have to promise me that you'll wake up," more concern and worry than she'd intended crept into her voice.

V untangled his hand from hers and briefly signaled Scout's Honor before burying deeper into the blankets.

Evey snorted a quick laugh, bent over to kiss the forehead of his mask then forced her stiffened body into moving. She hadn't known what to expect when she'd returned to the Shadow Gallery two days ago, she was wholly unprepared and lacking in essentials. Before retiring to the shower, she raided V's closet for something of his to slip into. Amoungst the sea of dark grey and black poet's shirts and waistcoats, she found a luxeriantly soft fleece hoodie and red silk pajama pants. She made a quick stop at the bed to lightly sweep her fingertips across his neck and chest. _Oh, V, how I do love you..._

V waited exactly ten minutes from the time he heard the water turn on down the hall. Knowing Evey to be the creature of habit she was, he knew she'd be in the shower for almost an hour. He grinned, she'd always taken full advantage of the re-circulating water heaters he'd installed years ago. He had an affinity for a lengthy cleansing ritual himself, during both of Evey's stays with him, they'd enjoyed the activity together from separate bathrooms...each secretly yearning to be in the same shower together.

He gingerly crawled out from beneath the covers. The simple act of sitting upright was almost enough to convince him to lie back down on his soft, warm bed and subject himself to Evey's ministrations. The temptation of having her hands caressing him gently...

A searing, stabbing pain jarred V from the pleasant reverie. He dropped to his knees, clutching at his chest and midsection, blood dribbled from between the porcelain lips of the mask. He needed to remove the bullets from his riddled body, however, Evey's concern was valid. She'd gotten the bleeding to stop, but too little time had past for even his accelerated healing physiology to kick in and prevent him from exsanguinating should the bleeding become uncontrollable. At the same time, he knew that if he didn't remove the bullet fragment precariously embedded in his sternum, it might shift and indeed give him the pierced lung Evey feared he already had. He took small comfort in knowing that not to be the case, both lungs felt to be severely bruised, most likely caused by the concussive resonance of the bullets against the breastplate he'd been wearing.

Resolute, V reached for the chair Evey had been obsessively occupying for the last twelve hours, pulled himself up into a half hunched-over crouch and took slow, deliberate steps into his private bathroom. Once there and safely behind the locked door, he crumpled in sheer exhaustion. Wearied and worried tears ran erradic streaks down his cheeks. It would take all the reserves he had to complete this task.

If he hadn't been surviving on sheer will power, he would have felt immensly guilty for sending Evey off with the anticipation that she'd play an active role in patching him up. Not that V didn't desperately desire her help, he wanted nothing more than to lie back in bed while his _Kallisti _lovingly mended his broken body. But the damned Spockian, logistical side of his foggy brain couldn't subject her to his torsed and scarred flesh just yet. Although the recent steps he'd taken in making the inevitable reveal easier for her, V wasn't about to do just that prematurely and risk her rejection of him. Oh, he knew Evey loved him...her return two days ago had piqued his curiosity over the matter, her kiss at the train left little lingering doubt and her tear-filled angst at his bedside had all but cemented his belief. But that nagging in his head needed to ascertain just how strongly Evey's love for him was before he bared to her his body and soul.

That nagging, logical, calculating mind of his also estimated he had approximately thirty minutes before Evey would return. He needed to work quickly. It was highly inconvenient that even the smallest of movements sent daggars of fire through his entire body, it would make completing the task before Evey's reappearance that much more difficult. Luckily the breastplate had taken the majority of the bullets, only five of the two dozen plus had penetrated through. He plucked the bandage scissors from the medical supplies he kept in this room and began cutting away at the layers of roll gauze Evey had so diligently wrapped about him. He had to cut away his clothing as well, as the blood dried, it caked to his skin. He discarded the torn suit and pox-marked mask in the corner, to be dealt with later, and sat down in the tub to address his wounds. The very darkest part of his mind, the part he hoped Evey would never see, the part that made it so easy to murder as if shooing away a gnat, entertained the thought that if this stupid stunt went awry then bleeding out in the tub would make for a far easier clean-up.

_Don't even fucking bloody start_, V chastised himself. He took stock of his injuries. None of Creedy's henchmen had inflicted any major damage, Creedy's close-range shots were the only ones that had managed to break through the armor. He looked at the serpentine pattern winding infinitely around his left arm, it's upper half marred slightly by the through-and-through of his biceps, the lower half shimmered bright red and raw at the near miss on the underside of his forearm. There was another through-and-through over his right hip, he'd actually felt that bullet glance off the ischium of his pelvis before exiting out his side. The two wounds in his chest worried V the most, the one with the slug lodged in his sternum and the other, slightly lower and to the left, somehow miraculously wedged between two ribs.

With a strangled cry out, V plunged a pair of forceps into the rents in his chest, first one, then the other before his body had too much time to register what was going on. The two mangled slugs dropped to the tile alongside the forceps. V laid there, breathing heavy and covered in a fresh sheen of blood. His head was swimming and had he still anything left in his stomach, it would now be empty. As quickly as he could, he sutured closed his bloodied chest. He expertly rebandaged his wounds, not bothering with stitching the remaining three. Somehow he managed to redress himself, he donned a mandarin-collared, mid-thigh black muslin _kurta_, his standard-issue black pants and new pearly white Guy Fawkes mask. Halfway back to the bed his vision tunneled and he felt himself going under.

Chapter 3

Evey felt like singing. She felt refreshed, rejuvenated. England was beginning anew, V's ideals, his Revolution had been realized, the tyrannical Norsefire was no more. Most importantly, through some grace of some god, V hadn't died. He'd survived and come back to her, his love for her brought him back. She'd known V loved her before he'd admitted it, and it was that briefest of hesitations he'd had right before leaving her in the tunnel that had told her just _how much_ he really loved her. And she really loved him.

Yes, singing was a good way to bring in the future. If Evey had her say in the matter, she'd right now rather be in ensnared in V's strong arms dancing into the early morning. She inhaled deeply, _there will be plenty of time for dancing in the days to come._ The image of the two of them waltzing throughout the cavernous Shadow Gallery brought a broad, toothy smile to her face.

She made a pit stop to the kitchen for a quick lunch before heading back to the bedroom to play doctor with V..._easy there girlfriend, the poor man's just been resurrected. Give him a couple days to heal before you jump his bones._ Evey grinned devilishly at the thought of her hands playing over his sleek, well-defined physique. She downed a heaping bowl of home-made kimchi soup in record time, pausing only slightly to give yet more praise to V's deftness around a kitchen. She spooned over-sized scoops of double chocolate ice cream, V's favorite, into a bowl to take to her would-be lover. She snagged two mugs from the overhead cupboard and put it aside the steaming teapot filled with Raspberry Earl Grey, also V's favorite. She carried the tray of goodies to the bedroom, singing John Lennon's "Imagine," another of V's favorites...she was sensing a pattern here.

Any intents at surprise she had at the outset turned into shock and panic in the doorjamb. Halfway between the attached bathroom and the bed, V stood doubled-over and barely conscious. He teetered forbodingly back and forth. He pitched forward to the floor. Evey dropped her tray and caught him before he turned into another limp heap. "V? What did you do? I was coming back to help you," she had only the slightest hint of accusation in her voice.

"'M sorry, m'love," V managed between his frantic panting. "Please...help me to bed."

The pleading undertones in V's deep voice made Evey's heart melt. She once again draped his arm over her shoulders and half-walked, half-dragged him to the bed. Seeing V this prone, she couldn't bring herself to be mad at him. Seeing him vulnerable and weak made her heart flutter more than it already did in his presence. If she could have stolen any of his crippling pain away right now, she gladly would. She gently lowered V into bed, one hand craddling the back of his head onto the pillows, the other guiding his muscular legs under the covers.

V, despite all his best efforts to fight passing out, rested heavily in her hands. For all the times he'd held her in fear or despair, or in post-imprisonment quaking, he needed Evey now to hold him tight, to give him some of her strength. He was exhausted, the two meter trek back to the bed sucked what remained of his energy reserves. If she so desired, he would revel in Evey holding him through the night, giving him a soothing calm that would afford him the rest he so desperately needed. He opened his mouth to tell her as such, but the only word that came out was another round of coughing and a strained, "cold."

Evey went immediately into her impromptu nurse-mode. V was getting shocky. She drew the blankets as tight around him as he'd let her, she piled the thicker comforter from her own bed atop those. "Better?" she pulled the satiny material to just under his masked chin. Her gaze followed V's anemic hand wave across the room. There, along the far wall was a simple but elegant electric fireplace.

She cocked her head quizzically, she'd never noticed it before. Not that she'd had much occasion to explore V's private chambers, up until she'd come in here in grief, she'd considered the room forbidden territory. A small voice in the back of her mind told her that it had, indeed, not been there before. That V had pilfered it so that he would bequeath to her a homier Shadow Gallery. Evey shivered at that thought. She pledged to banish any such thoughts from coalescing in the future. V wasn't dead, he wouldn't be for hopefully a very long time. He was here with her, hopefully for a very long time.

V's trembling brought Evey back from her ruminations. She gingerly propped another pillow behind his head, tightened the thick blankets about his tremoring body, then moved to light the fireplace. It ignited with a satisfying _woosh. _She bent closer to the flames, relishing their heat on her face. She smiled softly, that heat paled in comparison to the incandescence that radiated throughout her body at the merest of thoughts of V.

She turned back to the bed. V was fighting a losing battle to the blackout waging war with his haggard body. She lightly crossed the cold floor to his bedside. Her heart melted that much more for the man shivering beneath the covers. She'd never seen him in a moment of weakness, he'd always been the picture of strength and vigour. Evey delighted in finally being allowed to be the rock onto which V held steadfast.

A split second of hesitation flashed through her mind before she carefully lifted V's semi-limp upperhalf off his pillows and into her lap. She'd hold him that way for as long as he needed.

V was in heaven...

Here he was, very much alive and very much in the embrace of the woman he worshipped, he loved with every fiber of his being. He both cursed and congratulated himself for his earlier stupidity. Cursed because although he no longer was losing blood, the toll it had taken on his body was winning out and he would pass out soon. Congratulated because then he wouldn't be here lying in the loving, tender arms of his sweetest Evey.

He nuzzled closer into her inviting lap. Her warmth, the soft carress of her hand through his wig, everything soothed him into succumbing to the blackness. A tired, content smile afixed itself to his face as he sighed and submersed into darkness.

Evey couldn't be sure of how much time had passed while V lay motionless atop her. She hadn't wanted to jostle him too much, worried that he'd done more harm than good by retrieving the bullets himself. At least the violent, bloody coughing spells were subsiding. She took that as a sign that his body was beginning to heal itself.

She wasn't quite sure of what happened after he'd left her at the train. She surmised he'd gone to meet with Creedy and Sutler, his makers. She guessed that he'd probably killed them too. She shuddered slightly, was wasn't sure how she felt about being in love with a man that had killed countless numbers of people without so much as a lick of remorse. But she also knew V was a man of high morality, albeit his moral code was far askew from that of most sane people. He never did anything without analyzing it first, then justifying his reasons. She was sure stories would surface of all that he'd done, some would be in hatred and fear, others in hero-worship.

As for right at the moment, however, his bulk pressed against her, causing both legs to fall asleep. Taking his vitals again as she'd done multiple times during this round of unconsciousness, she let out the breath she was holding. V was stable, had been for a while, he looked now to be restfully sleeping than anything else. Evey wiggled her legs slowly out from under V's broad shoulders. He emitted a soft groan of protest when her warmth was replaced by the plush sterility of his downy pillows, but he did not rouse from his slumber.

She needed to walk about a bit. She hated leaving V whilst he convalesced, but save for the hour or so she'd allowed herself to shower, she had fussed endlessly over him and her body was beginning to rebel. Pins and needles shot through her legs when she placed them on the stone floor and stiffened knees popped from inactivity.

She adjusted the layers of blankets enshrouding V. The lit fireplace made the room warm rather quickly and V was a furnace in and of himself. She was positive he wasn't feverish, every time he'd touched her before...which she vowed to make a much more frequent occurance...she'd felt the same overwhelming inferno. She'd wanted to run from it then, denying her body's reactions to his touch. Now she desired to be consumed by his flame, have it engulf her totally. Have her totally engulf him...

_Poor V. Once he's recovered, _she smirked deviously.

Evey hobbled to the fireplace, the senstaion not yet fully back to her legs, so as to turn down the ferocity of the fire. She was still weak in her knees too, that was due less to the lack of usage and more to the thought of her's and V's naked bodies entwined together on the rich fibers of the oriental rug before the hearth. She stalked quietly back to the bed. The innocence of V's sleeping form drew her hand to run lightly down his chest. Though the _kurta_ he wore was meant to be loose-fitting, his glorious pectorals coupled with the numerous layers of bandaging pulled it snug, actually accentuating his musculature. Further down from his chest she could feel the sworls and eddies of his scarred flesh through the material. It broke her heart that V had had to endure so much suffering during his lifetime, and endure it alone at that.

_No more!_ she resoluted. If anyone or anything came to harm V ever again, it would have to get through her first!

Evey placed a fleeting kiss to the lips of the Guy Fawkes mask below her. "I love you, V," she whispered. "I love you more than I can say and I hope you wake up soon so I can tell you just that."

Chapter 4

It was very early in the morning on November the Sixth when V finally awoke. He hadn't wanted to wake just yet, his body could still use a couple more hours to heal itself. But then, a certain part of his body refused to lie there complacently. Jaded and mutated as he was, V was still all male and the kiss Evey had placed upon him earlier had left his head reeling and his body pining for more. He was grateful that she'd left the room shortly thereafter, he would have failed to explain the ever-growing tenting of the sheets.

He threw back the covers. His gloved hand swiped the air above his groin. _Traitorous limey bastard, _he growled. _Well, blood flow's back, _was his next thought. Behind the mask, V rolled his eyes. Far be it for him to be able to control his body's reactions whenever Evey was around. Now that he was on the mend and aware of how Evey felt, he would have to think twice before taking any action towards her.

He inhaled deeply. The pneumonthoraxs were healing well, the cracks in his sternum and ribs would take a while longer to bind completely. Other than being immensely beaten and bruised, he otherwise felt well. Not for the first time since Larkhill did he give reluctant thanks to the virus coursing through his veins.

He stretched carefully and stood slowly. Knees and vertebrae creaked in disapproval. He ignored their protest and moved carefully to the bathroom to check the bandages before searching out where Evey had gone off to. It was more difficult than he expected to remove his shirt, mostly due to the jabbing pain whenever he lifted his left arm above elbow height. _Screw it. _He pulled the shirt up and over his head despite his arm's opposition.

He was a walking bruise. From neck to navel was a nearly contiguous stream of greenish-purple bruises. Some were more pronounced than others, especially those associated with sutures, giving him the appearance of some spotted, filigreed beast. V snorted, _a beastly sight to be sure. _He splashed cold water across his face, running a rough palm over the slight stubble that was all the damaged dermis would produce. It reminded him sadly of Evey's shorn scalp.

A shiver ran down his spine. That was one of the hardest days he'd had to endure. The sight of those delicious honey-brown locks strewn violently across the floor. V made an oath to erase the horror of what he'd done to Evey from his memory. Although, he had to admit that the quiet confidence she now exuded made her that much more beautiful to him.

V redressed the bandages quickly. Another day, he estimated, and he wouldn't need their constrictiveness any longer. He slipped back into his tunic and mask and went to seek out his Miss Evey Hammond.

He didn't search for long. He found her curled up on the couch in the media room. She looked simply scrumptuous, innocently in slumber wrapped up in his clothes. The sight was adorable. Evey's lithe little body was absolutely swimming in a sea of red silk and brown fleece. It was the sight every guy secretly wished to see, his girlfriend throwing aside feminine formalities and relaxing in natural sexiness.

_Whoa there old chap, _the thought of Evey as his girlfriend took V aback. Wherever they were to go from here, a conventional relationship was far from it.

Evey shifted on the couch, revealing the bare small of her back. The temptation to trace his fingertips along it's slight curve was almost too great to quelch. V swallowed hard and instead turned his attention to the telly.

Evey had fallen asleep watching a twentieth century American space western, or more specifically, the second incarnation of a space western. He, himself, preferred the original. Hokey as it was, the social commentary was poignant and timeless. Early on, he and Evey had spent a seventy-three hour marathon through the entire series. She'd laughed at the cheap effects and over-acting, but, much to his satisfaction, the stories were not lost on her.

He shifted uneasily. He didn't think the couch an appropriate place for her to catch upon sleep. He didn't think he had enough strength yet to carry her to bed either. He certainly didn't have the heart to wake her from her much needed rest. So, V did the next viable option, he grabbed a spare blanket from the chest in the corner and quietly lifted Evey to lay atop him as he had her. The fit of her body in his was more perfect than the brush strokes on any of his paintings. He sank back into the inviting cushions, draped the blanket about them both, wrapped a hestitant arm...on top of the blanket...about his lovely's slim waist, and focused his eyes instead on the telly to watch the gallant crew battle a horde of cybernetic drones.

Evey's head buried further into a most peculiar pillow. It was rock-hard yet supple, warm and rhythmically mobile. It was V's magnificent stomach. She resisted the strong urge to snake her hands inside his shirt and rub them over the washboard abs her eyes were outlining. She opted rather for a less obvious approach, she laid her hand beneath her head and cupped the sinew stealthily.

She didn't remember falling asleep watching the telly. For that matter, she didn't remember falling asleep watching the telly with V. Last she left him, he was hibernating under satiny bedclothes. The last thing she remembered coherently was sitting down on the couch with a mug of hot chocolate and an intent to enlight herself on the progress of the new world above.

About a half hour into the newscast she'd lost interest. For all the pomp and circumstance V had put into his Revolution, the explosion of Parlaiment had been the most violent aspect. There were some sporadic skirmishes between Bonfire Nighters and Norsefire Fingermen, but those were few and far between and being dealt with swiftly by Finch's cohorts. All in all, it had been a peaceful demonstration and as word spread of the death of V the Terrorist, sad voices carried on his vision of rebuilding.

Funny how a dead terrorist felt strong beneath her.

V's soft, even breathing told Evey that he was asleep. Moreover, he was dreaming. She wondered what he was dreaming about, the incomprehensible mumbling sounded as if it was entirely pleasant. She knew what she was dreaming about when she vocalized like that in her sleep...

She sat up ramrod straight at that. The lure to seduce V while he slept, to make the fantasy he was having come true, was nearly overwhelming. She fought it back reluctantly. V was obviously healing rapidly, however, she doubted a thorough ravishing would be in his best interest at the moment. But she did file away the scenario for future re-inactment.

V stirred beside her. Two long legs and right arm stretched out into a lop-sided starfish. Evey grasped at the hand of his heavily bandaged left arm. The Guy Fawkes mask lolled sideways to face her. "Mmmmmmm," the familiar baritone voice rumbled. "My Dearest Evey. Helen herself could not hold a candle to the beauty I awaken to."

Evey blushed. Such a statement could only be made by V and not sound like a pick-up line. It wasn't a pick-up either, he didn't need to spout cheesy one-liners at her. V already had her, had had her since day one.

Totally and unequivocally.

She attempted and failed to think of an equally as verbose greeting. She settled for a simple, "how're you feeling?"

V mulled over the question. How was he feeling? Satisfied that his Vendetta ended with such success. Elated that his lady was at his side. Anxious that he had failed to plan for this contigency. _Ah, but alas,old chap. You did, lest you forget those three days in that limey bastard's torture chamber._ He flinched slightly under the mask. The insistent tapping of bamboo spears into his skin was a sensation he never wished to have again. He answered her, "I admit to having awakened in a much more pleasant physical state. But thanks to your diligence, I could be far more worse for wear."

Evey shrugged her small shoulders. "I didn't do much except sit beside you while you were passed out."

V brought her hand up to his mask, pressed a light kiss onto the back of it. "Oh, Evey, you did that and so much more. You gave me hope and the will to keep living." The words were coming out too quick for him to stop them. "You gave me the ability to fall in love again. For that, I am forever in your debt."

Evey slid across the leather cushions to lean back into him. "Tell me you love me and I'll take it as payment in full." Chocolate brown eyes gazed longing up at the masked man above. She turned to take the mask's face in her hands. "'Cause I love you more than words can ever say."

V's heart exploded at those words from her lips. Tears welled in his eyes. His hands mirrored hers, he tilted his head downward and pressed his cool alabaster forehead against hers. "My Evey, how I love you so."

Chapter 5

They laid there for hours, V and Evey, in each other's arms on the couch. V was sprawled out below, his head resting on the balled-up throw. Evey was on top, covering him up like a blanket. Her arms were wrapped around his waist, head resting in the hollow of his throat. Her buzzed hair prickled under there, tickling the sensitive underside of his chin.

V didn't care. The feel of her body against his was maddening, her scent intoxicating. He felt himself getting dizzier and dizzier with each passing second. He was never more grateful to be lying down, surely now his knees would buckle if he tried to stand. Not that he would stand even if he could, doing so would lift Evey's body off his. He would refuse to let that happen for as long as possible.

Neither of them spoke, hadn't spoken a word in a long time. The telly was switched off hours ago. The only sounds permeating throughout the Gallery were their soft sighs of bliss.

V found the simple intimate act of just holding each other to be far more erotic than any of the other fantasies he'd created about Evey over the last year. If it wasn't for her right knee innocently placed between his legs, he would be hugely aroused. For her part, Evey couldn't bury herself any deeper into V if she tried. Her hands under his body pushed his chest so close into hers that she felt the steady beating of his heart. Her lips placed an occasional small, errant kiss to the hollow just below his Adam's Apple. She silently begged with the muslin collar of his shirt to fall away so that she could set her pleading lips against his bare flesh.

With each fleeting kiss Evey graced to his throat, V soared higher. He felt the tugging at his collar each time her lips connected, yearning, desiring to touch skin. The urge to reveal himself to her was almost too great, he nearly did just that. But again, his fear of Evey rejecting him won this latest battle. He, instead, wrapped his arms around her even tighter, his right hand clasping at her low waistline, his left at the base of her neck and head. His fingers traced light circles over the peach fuzz on her scalp.

Evey purred in delight into his neck. His rock solid body against hers was making her delirious, his hand on the back of her neck drove her crazy. She trailed butterfly kisses from his throat along what of his jawline she could reach beneath the mask. Damn that blasted mask! She found an especially sensitive area...not concealed by either mask or collar...the L of his mandible, just below an also naked ear. Evey lightly nibbled both areas. She was rewarded with a sharp inhalation from V. She became acutely aware of the placement of her right knee and adjusted so that she could straddle his groin suggestively.

V was gone. Evey's languid pecks to his chin had his head spinning out of control, her seductive suckling at his ear and he was drunk. He hissed as a shudder traveled down his spine. "Oh God, Evey," he moaned when she repositioned to straddle him. His left hand pushed her head further against his neck, his right found it's way beneath her shirt. It snaked up to knead the muscles just above the waistband of her pajama pants.

It was Evey's turn to moan with pleasure. If only he'd take off his gloves so that she could know the sensation of his real skin rubbing against hers. She eased up on him slightly to tell him as such when a loud growl interrupted the thought. She immediately turned four shades of red and clamped down on her rebellious stomach.

V burst into a booming, thunderous laugh. It was loud and rich and a sound heard much too seldom in the Shadow Gallery. He placed his hands on Evey's slim hips and reluctantly pushed her into a sitting position atop him. "It appears your viscera has other plans for this evening," he stated jovially. Now that he thought about it, he was voraciously hungry himself...moreso for the lovely creature straddled across his hips than sustenance. But his meager diet the last couple days would zap the energy from him and he wouldn't have any left to enjoy the intimate encounters that would occur in the future. To punctuate the point, his own stomach grumbled in response to Evey's.

Her embarrassment was abated somewhat by V's similar plight. Neither of them had eaten well since the early evening of the Fifth. The only meal of substance she'd consumed was the kimchi soup for lunch yesterday. V had had little more than tea, he'd been too nauseous to actually eat anything. She puffed a breath upwards, an old habit from the days when the untamed curls would fall before her eyes. V's abdomen complained again, her small hands massaged it quiet. "I suppose it is time for supper," she reasoned. "Empty stomachs won't help either of us. There's not a lot of food here. I'll go topside for a quick shop."

V's ears perked up at that. Peaceful as his Revolution went, there were bound to be dangers lurking about until proper order had been restored. And now Finch knew her identity, he didn't doubt that her face was on every most-wanted list in London. His squirming alighted his discomfort towards the suggestion. Not knowing for sure and not wanting to blatantly advertise his over-protectiveness, V grasped at straws. "Evey, it is dark. There will be wayward Fingermen. I'm quite certain that we have enough supplies here for us to come up with a decent meal for the evening."

The "us" rather than "me" wasn't lost on Evey. She hated this over-protective side of V. She was, afterall, a product of his creation and able to take care of herself. She pushed that discussion aside for another time. V had gone through hell-and-high-water to be back here with her, he was determined to never lose her again. She would have to endure an amount of smothering for a while. She gazed casually at the masked man below her. "There's not much here, V," she shrugged the fleece hoodie back onto her shoulders. "Besides, as comfy as your clothes are, I do think it a rather good idea to bring back some of my own." She gracefully swung her right leg over his chest and stood up.

V couldn't help staring at her backside as she stretched. He rolled onto his side to hide his arousal.

Evey disappeared briefly to retrieve her flats from the bedroom. Before leaving she bent down and squeezed his gloved hand. She pulled away and turned.

V rose quickly as he could, leather couch and gloves creaking. He swirled her around to face him. He took her delicate hands in his. "My sweetest Evey. I shall endevour to patiently await your return." His head dipped and tilted sideways, his austere cold lips pressed into her warm, pouty mouth.

This flat was a stranger's home. It wasn't even a home really, it was actually just a place to sleep.

Evey looked around. It was quite a depressing little pit. Oh, it served it's purpose well enough, but it held no life, no warmth. The life and warmth she desired was back in the underground Shadow Gallery. That was home, had been since day one.

The only amenity that made this flat different from any other countless others in London was the clutter of clothing scattered about on various surfaces. It wasn't dirty, per se, more messy. Evey, with her mind preoccupied in it's pining over V, would thoughtlessly toss clothes on anything suitable as a hanger. The closer the Fifth had drawn, the more preoccupied she'd become and the messier the flat became.

Evey snickered. V had gone in the opposite direction. He'd always been neat and tidy, but when she'd arrived that evening the Gallery was more spotless than usual, almost obsessive-complusive-anal-retentively so. Leave it to V, she thought. She doubted there wasn't much he couldn't do with absolute perfection. She decided a quick tidying up was in order before heading out to the market. Who knew how long it would be until she came back? She hoped that the next time she returned it would be to pack up the remainder of her modest possessions and move them into the Shadow Gallery.

To her new home with her Beloved V.

In the meantime she didn't want for any further indistinction between dirty versus clean laundry. She was fairly sure a couple of items would stand on their own soon and march themselves down to the Gallery. She snagged everything up into the hamper in the bathroom. She disrobed out of V's clothes too, promising herself that the hoodie would become a permanent part of her wardrobe, whether V liked it or not. Whilst she was here, she decided on a quick shower as well.

Twenty minutes later, a record for her, Evey emerged feeling fresh and clean. She redressed quickly in slate grey khakis and a form-fitting red silk button down blouse. Her tom-boyishness refused to allow her to go all the way with the more formalness of the outfit and she slipped into her pair of well-worn black Chuck Taylor's.

She grabbed her black peacoat from the closet, it was turning colder now, and slung the hamper over her shoulder. With any luck the laundry at the corner would be empty this time of night, she could take up all the machines and run to the market at the same time. It was and she did just that.

The market was small but stocked with everything she and V needed for a savory meal. She didn't think either of them had the appetite for something rich, she purchased ingredients for a simple chicken and pasta dish. She delighted in the idea of she and V preparing a dinner together. Never had such an occasion presented itself before. Her body tingled at thoughts of chaste little brushes of arms against each other while they stood side-by-side in the small kitchen.

Her thoughts thereafter remained about V, the majority of her thoughts over the last year had been about V. It had taken far too long to reconsile with herself how she felt about the man in the Guy Fawkes mask.

The man. Yes. The man, not the idea.

It saddened her that it had taken each of them a trip to their own self-made purgatories to admit their devotion and love. Had she been more observant of the depth of V's affections for her, the past year would have unfolded markedly different.

She'd known from the very beginning that he was attracted to her, and she to him. There had always been an undeniable chemistry between them, a sexual tension so thick it was nearly solid. But their uncertainties about themselves and mutual distrust had kept them from acting on those strong impulses.

Distrust wasn't the right word, she couldn't come up with a description of whatever concept it was. She hadn't been sure she could trust V with her heart, or that he could trust her with his. Though, in the end, turning over her heart to V was her liberation.

"Ahem. 'Scuse me miss," came an annoyed voice.

Evey startled. She'd lost herself in her ponderings and was just standing immobilized at the market counter. The man behind the counter glared at her, clearly irritated. She pulled out her money and slid it across the counter. "Sorry, just lost myself for a minute there. Wondering where the world's going to now, you know?"

The man softened at that. "Aye," he said. "'Tis gonna get hairy around here for a bit. Bloody shame V was killed. I'd give me right arm in order for the bloke to be livin' again." He straightened, trying to look proud. "To lead us into the undiscovered country."

Evey flashed the man a sardonic smile as she took her bags from him. What they don't know won't hurt them. It'll make them think for themselves.

She picked up her laundry on the way back to her flat. She finished with the quick cleaning and packed up a few weeks' worth of essentials. Her next stop, groceries and all, was the Shadow Gallery.

Her undiscovered country.

V was bored. A bored V never made for a happy V. Not knowing what to do with himself seldom made for a good time. He'd always been an active man, wheather it had been labouring over surveillance equipment and railroad ties, or, more recently and much more pleasantly, entertaining his Evey, he'd always had cause to keep his mind and body busy. Now that his goals were achieved, his Vendetta carried out, he had no idea what to do next.

Though the only thing he knew he would not do was get involved with the new world above. That, he hoped, would be Evey's role. He wished to remain dead to everyone but her. He was content to be remembered as an idea. He disliked the concept of being a symbol, an idol. He was no symbol. He was no idol. He was simply a man. A man, he dared hope, that could experience the joys of being a man with his Beloved Evey Hammond.

Evey, Evey. His thoughts always came back to Evey. He had absolutely no objection to that. Now that they had each professed their love for each other, he felt more comfortable engaging his mind to the erotic fantasies he'd had about her for nearly a year.

V straightened upon the couch. Even though he was alone he didn't think it appropriate letting his mind wander while sitting on it. Despite more than one of his fantasies took place right on that very couch.

He moved still somewhat stiffly to the jukebox. He needed to hear music. Music always helped him think, sometimes productively, more often it helped guide him into higher planes of reason. It usually also reflected his mood. After that all-but-innocent cuddle session with Evey, his mind was in full gear and speeding away, he wanted to slow it down before it got carried away. He was still a gentleman, after all, and chivalry wouldn't allow for Evey to be lept upon when she returned.

He flipped through the disks in the Wurlitzer absently, not really knowing what he was in the mood for. He didn't care really, for that matter, just something to help him refocus. He turned the volume all the way to maximum and moved to the darkness of his inner sanctum. A long, hot shower would also be helpful in clearing his head.

Evey would be away for a few hours. He suspected that her flat was in a state of disarray and that she would feel obliged to herself to see to it's tidiness before returning down here for an indeterminate amount of time. V allowed himself a whistful sigh, he hoped that indeterminate amount of time would be forever.

He changed his mind about the shower halfway through disrobing. A good workout would help refocus his impure musings. A few vicious rounds with the punching bag would be the normal remedy, but in his current state of remending the twisting and stretching of already strained muscles would be too strenuous. A quick spar with the suit or armor would provide suffient distraction.

He paused briefly to do a quick bit of tidying up himself. His blood-encrusted clothing and pox-marked mask were still lying in the corner of the bathroom floor. He scooped up both items, the clothes he deposited in the trash bin, the mask on the welding table in the workshop down the hall. V supposed he wouldn't ever again need a graphene re-inforced Guy Fawkes mask, but thought the remoulding of it would serve useful just in case.

He stopped again in his bedroom. Evey will be absent for a while longer, might as well get comfortable in the meantime, V reasoned with himself. He also knew the idea to be twofold, his mind playing tricks on him. Slip into something less formidable than his usual waistcoat and trousers and maybe, just maybe, Evey would catch him unawares. He doubted he would ever have the courage to reveal himself to her otherwise. So he changed into the blood red and white boxing shorts he wore during his aerobic workouts and made for the swordplay with his battered suit of armor.

The music flowing from the jukebox was raucous, some feel-good song about a date with a girl. Each of the selections next would range from his preferred mellow jazz to violent American hip-hop. Whatever reached his ears it was better than listening to the silence of the Shadow Gallery without Evey's voice to grace the air, all the while distracting him from elaborating too much in the ways he burned to make that sweet siren's song reverberate off the stone walls.


End file.
